Out of the Hellmouth, Into the Storybrooke
by Firefly11
Summary: Instead of dying when she throws herself into the portal in "The Gift," Buffy Summers is transported to Storybrooke, Maine. It goes about as well as you'd think.
1. Welcome to Storybrooke

_Dawn, listen to me. Listen. I love you. I will always love you. This is the work that I have to do. Tell Giles I . . . Tell Giles I figured it out, and that I'm okay. Give my love to my friends. You have to take care of them now. You have to take care of each other. You have to be strong. Dawn, the hardest thing in this world is to live in it._

There was pain—sharp, stinging waves coursing through her muscles, her skin, her veins—

_Be brave. Live . . . for me._

_For me._

—and then sweet, dark peace. She felt her body tingle and lift like a feather, floating up into oblivion. If this was death, she thought, it wasn't so bad. It was like every pore of her skin was filling up with light and she felt complete, and the—

"_Ow._"

Hard, rough cement. She was no longer weightless. Everything was extremely and most-definitely weight-y. The limbs of her legs ached and her fingers and palms scratched against the ground. She could feel the air ruffling her hair. Buffy just . . . decided to lay there for a while and hope she'd just hit a signpost or something on the way to sweet peaceful oblivion. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed, she'd just be scooped up and put back where she belonged. Yep. She was just gonna wait right here, thank you very much. Nothing to see here.

_Any _minute now.

"Um . . . are you okay?"

Buffy Summers groaned at the sound of the voice and rolled over. Every little bit of the motion ached. She squinted against the harsh light of day, vaguely aware that it was nighttime only moments ago. Muddled, she opened her mouth to speak, wondering if this was death, and the question came out in a soft little squeak: "Dawn?"

"Hey," her sister answered, kneeling beside her. A face came into view, but it wasn't her sister's big eyes and her long, soft brown hair. The young woman had a pale round face and very short dark hair. Her hand reached out and Buffy flinched and forced herself to sit up. "Whoa, hey, easy," the woman said, wide eyes watching her with concern. "You're alright. Do you know where you are?"

A world of 'no.' Buffy brushed off the dirt from the knees of her pants and kind of tried to stand. _Dawn . . . _That utterly complacent all-encompassing _knowing _that her sister was all right was completely gone. Now it was replaced with all-too-familiar fear and uncertainty, and worry that Dawn was standing on that bell tower somewhere, and her sacrifice meant nothing.

"Snow? What's going on?" A man's voice startled her out of her reverie, and if he had come from behind her, Buffy would have probably spun around and greeted him with a hard right backhanded punch, but he appeared behind the woman. He wasn't entirely of the unattractive variety, Buffy couldn't help but notice (so sue her), but neither of them looked like Glory's brain-sucked worshipers. That was something. "What the hell is this?" she asked aloud, eying the streets, the sidewalk, the quaint little buildings. The store on her right was called Modern Fashions, something that while it would definitely have benefited the more fashion-impaired residents of Sunnydale, California, it definitely was not a place Buffy recognized. This was so _not_ Sunnydale. First of all, the skies were bereft of a certain dragon-like, dragon-y thing that she was pretty sure tore its way out of the portal before she jumped.

Buffy cringed a bit at the memory, not to mention the stiffness in her joints, and fully faced the woman, whose brow was furrowed and looked decidedly un-demony, so, points in her favor. "Where am I?"

"Storybrooke," the woman answered, exchanging a look with the man and eying Buffy like . . . well, like she just fell out of the sky.

"Storybrooke," Buffy repeated. Sure enough, the sign on one of the nearby buildings read: Storybrooke Country Bread. She looked at it and the others nearby with increasing suspicion. "Let me guess . . . train goes in a circle, trees are made of cardboard, and there's a giant creepy little girl laughing at us 'cause we're all stuck in her dollhouse-town?" The woman opened her mouth, but didn't answer. "Just checking."

"You're in Storybrooke, Maine," the man said. "My name's . . . David. This is Mary Margaret. Do you remember how you got here?"

Buffy paused. Maine. It was better than _Hell_, which is pretty much what she expected. But if all Glory's portal did was catapult her across the country and land her in a creepy little town in the middle of nowhere, she would have been less dramatic about the dying.

Still, she wasn't exactly ready to buy a one-way ticket to Crazy Town, not until she knew where the hell Storybrooke, Maine was. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Mary Margaret shared a grin with the man called David, and she smiled. "Try us."

[ ] [ ] [ ]

God, oh _God_, did Buffy miss Giles.

This was usually the part where she received a nice, long-winded, British-y explanation of the what and the why. Of course, when Mary Margaret and David took her to Storybrooke's Sheriff Station, she did the sensible thing and tried to call him and got a big 'ol unhelpful dose of the-number-you-are-trying-to-reach-cannot-be-found. She tried Willow, and Xander, and her own house, and _God _she even wished Spike's crypt had telephone service.

But no dice. She couldn't get through to anyone. And she couldn't help but notice that each time she tried, the looks on Mary Margaret and David's face darkened with anxiety. She slammed the phone down one final time and turned to them, arms folded, all business. She hadn't told them everything, not until she knew the score. All they knew was that she closed her eyes in Sunnydale, California, and woke up in Storybrooke, Maine. None of her friends were answering, and considering the last thing she remembered doing was jumping off a bell tower so her death could close a portal and save the world? She had way more reason to be anxious than they did. She couldn't even be satisfied that it worked, because If she was tossed into some other dimension, for all she knew her jump o' death did nothing, and she was wrong, and Dawn was . . .

No. She couldn't go there. It worked. She _knew _it worked. Death was her gift.

"I don't have time for this," she said, stomping past the hovering couple to the door. She didn't know why she was here. She didn't care. She needed the fastest way out of this town. Mary Margaret and David were calling after her, advising her to slow down, rest, but Buffy didn't have _time _to do any of those things. She'd been going non-stop for days trying to stop Glory and protect Dawn, and if she stopped now . . .

She might never start again. And Willow wasn't here to mindwalk in her head and bring her back.

"Look," she said, whirling on them outside the Sherriff's office, "you wanna help? That's fine. How 'bout a welcome package? You know, a nice fruit basket, a brochure, maybe a bus schedule? 'Cause my friends might be dying back home, and I really need to be _not here_. So if you've got any suggestions, you know, I'm all ears."

Mary Margaret and David let her go, their faces twisted in a mix of confusion and sympathy which probably came from the _friends might be dying _bomb she dropped on them. Good. The last thing she needed was more hovering. Okay, she understood why they were wary. Maybe Storybrooke, Maine wasn't accustomed to the kind of Sunnydale-type weirdness that became a once-a-week phenomenon. But Buffy was _so _the wronged party, here. She made her choice to die—for her sister and the world.

So why was she here?

Buffy walked along the streets of the small town, desperately wishing right about now that that whole Buffy in Cars thing wasn't such a disaster. She didn't get many looks, but she gave a good many. There was just something about this place. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Her slayer-y sense was tingling.

Before long, she was standing before a sign along a wet dirt road near the forest. LEAVING STORYBROOKE.

"Don't mind if I do," Buffy muttered to herself, looking at the orange line actually painted across the road. That wasn't a little odd. She glanced warily behind her, eyes scanning the road and the woods for anyone—or anything—planning on doing something as stupid as attacking. Truthfully, she hoped they did.

The minute her boot stepped across the line, Buffy was thrown back on the road, landing hard on her ass.

She stood, fists clenched. The slayer stared daggers at the sign and the creepy little town line.

"What. The. _Fu_—"


	2. What I Imagined

She didn't find Mary Margaret and David at the sheriff's department, which was definitely a little too convenient for her taste, but Buffy ended up at a place called Granny's Diner. It was pretty run-of-the-mill—definitely less sleazy than the place she waitressed in Los Angeles and the smell definitely made her remember how little she'd eaten in the past few . . . days, but it definitely felt like weeks. She couldn't remember the last time she had a full meal. Paid lunches didn't exactly come with the slayer package. With a hell goddess trying to kill her sister and the world teetering on that rocky edge of destruction, food and sleep tended to get shifted down on the priority list. She ate enough to keep her strength good and strength-y and whenever she saw the first signs of a lecture on Giles' face, but that was about the it.

Not to mention, she wasn't the greatest in the cooking department. Throw her in a nest of vampires or a secret U.S government demon operation and she was your girl. Hey, she could think of at least three ways to utilize a frying pan and a spatula against a demon, but none of them involved anything resembling an edible result.

Mom always did the cooking. Buffy did the eating. Well, Buffy _tried _to do the eating, if Dawn didn't always finish the—

_Stop. _She was getting sidetracked. Buffy needed to be focused. And thinking about her mother—

_Mom . . . _

—and Dawn made things harder. But she was so _tired_. And mustering up the energy to be Slayer Detective Extraordinaire was not as easy as it once was. She thought she had everything figured out, and she came to terms with the fact that throwing herself off that tower would be her end. She'd be done, and they'd all go on living and it'd be hard but it'd be okay. After all, it was her gift. Not a puppy or a new pair of shoes, but it was something good she had to offer.

And here she was, apparently still undercooked. It wasn't easy to shrug off her big epiphany and put on the slayer pants again. She felt off.

She drew a few looks when the door of Granny's closed behind her. They weren't exactly suspicious, but it was clear Storybrooke wasn't used to strangers. The girl at the counter flashed a smile, however, and that was a little more comforting.

"What can I get you?" she asked, and Buffy took a seat, remembering just now that she was pretty much currently dead broke. She told the woman as much and surprisingly, she still found a heaping pile of pancakes in front of her no less than ten minutes later. "I don't think I've seen you in here before," the waitress behind the counter noted with a look of interest. "I'm Ruby."

"Buffy," she replied with a nod, noticing this was the part where she had to explain being new in town, which just was all sorts of complicated right now. She really just sucked at that whole cover-story thing. Not to mention, she wasn't used to people not knowing who she was. So maybe caution was the best approach. She needed answers. This place could be a hell dimension for all she knew. It could be just another hellmouth. She had to find out, but she needed to be smooth. She could do this. No problem. "I'm . . . new. Very, very new. I got here—well, today, really."

"Oh?" Ruby's eyebrow quirked up in interest. There was something in her voice that confirmed Buffy's suspicion: Strangers? Not really hot commodities in Storybrooke. "Where are you from?"

"California," she answered, before realizing that it was a _long _way to travel just to stop in some rural town. And she didn't have a car to prove she came from anywhere other than out of thin air. "I took a . . . a plane. And then drove. And then—you know—walked a little bit." She cleared her throat and changed the subject as fast as she possibly could. "So you live here?"

"Yep." Ruby wiped a spot on the counter with her rag, still giving Buffy a strange look. "It's not much. You in town long?"

_God, I hope not_. "Not really sure. I tried to—to—um, book a flight, but they were all booked, and I forgot I hate flying, so I might stay a little bit longer." Ruby nodded and Buffy buried herself into her chocolate milk. "As far as towns go, it seems pretty . . . nice?"

Except for the whole town line throwing her across the road thing. One thing she could say about Sunnydale—at least she _could_ physically leave if she wanted to.

"I've seen some serious strangeness in other elsewheres," Buffy went on. "Missing persons. Some . . . scary looking disfigured guys with a penchant for biting. Say . . ." She put her fork down. "Just out of curiosity . . . about how many cemeteries would you say you guys have? Just a guestimate."

"Uh—"

"Buffy?"

Mary Margaret appeared at her side, and instead of sitting peered at Buffy in mild confusion. She saw both she and Ruby exchange a Look, and Mary Margaret asked: "I thought you were headed out?"

"I was," Buffy answered, keeping her voice relatively low. "Unfortunately, your quaint little town here seemed to have other ideas." The look on Mary Margaret's face darkened from simple confusion to a knowing dread and Buffy was keen enough to sense the woman wasn't very surprised. The idea of Storybrooke being on some kind of hellmouth seemed more of a possibility every minute. Her eyes flicked to Ruby, who seemed to get the hint but looked like she desperately wanted to stay and listen. "Maybe we should talk in private?"

Mary Margaret pressed her lips firmly together and nodded. "Yes, I think maybe we should."

[ ] [ ] [ ]

They returned to the sheriff's department where the man—David—waited. Buffy hadn't realized until now he must have been the resident sheriff here in town, which in itself was a little hokey. Not that the Sunnydale police force was anything but utterly useless about ninety percent of the time, but Storybrooke's little police station looked like it held about one prisoner at a time.

"Snow, what . . ." David's eyes fell on Buffy and his face fell. "Did something happen?"

"You could say that," Buffy answered, flippantly despite her present irritation. She also noticed it was the second time David called Mary Margaret _Snow_, but that was pretty low down on her list of questions for the day. She stood in the center of the room and folded her arms, looking at the two of them squarely. No more beating around the bush. No more games. "I was just thrown on my ass trying to get out of this town. No matter which way I went, I couldn't take a single step past your little orange barrier or the sign—which, by the way, is dented now, and I'm not sorry." She paused, studying their reactions. They were shocked enough, which only meant they weren't in on it. That was good for them.

"Now, I've had my share of weird towns—trust me. I've reached the quota on strange and usually deadly forces trying to push me around. I'm pretty over it, honestly. I don't know why I'm here, or how I got here, or what kinda magicks you people have running, but I'm gonna need an explanation—a nice, concise, explanation and maybe a couple colorful diagrams—and I'm gonna need it now. What the hell is going on?"

David took a cautious step forward. "You couldn't get past the barrier?" He looked back at Mary Margaret for a second. "That's never . . . well, that's never happened before—not exactly."

"Okay, so what's the _exactly_?"

"Maybe we should call Emma," David suggested to Mary Margaret. "It could have something to do with her and Gold leaving."

"I think she has her hands full in Manhattan," Mary Margaret said, giving him a significant look. "Why would Gold close it behind him?"

"Maybe he wanted to make sure no one would follow."

"Like Hook?"

"Or Cora," David added.

"Or Regina."

"Okay," Buffy interjected, holding up her hands. All of this might as well have been gibberish. What kind of town was this, exactly? So far, she couldn't make heads or tails out of it other than the fact that on the pancake front, it was pretty solid. "Clearly you've got . . . a lot going on. And I wanna leave you to that, I really do. Hence back to me desperately looking for an exit sign that isn't busted?"

"It's . . . complicated," David said carefully.

"So start with the basics," Buffy said, looking at each of them. It was clear that whatever it was, they were hesitant to spill. "Where I lived before this? It's called a hellmouth. So the whole magic thing, it's really old hat. I've seen enough to know only a witch with some powerful mojo can whip up an invisible barrier thingy like that." And if Willow was here, and _boy _did she wish she was here right now, Buffy bet she could punch a hole through that thing in two seconds flat. But Willow—and everyone else who could have helped her—were in nowheresville right now. She was on her own.

"So I only need a name," Buffy finished. "And maybe an address. Who do you think's behind the curtain?"

The couple exchanged a knowing glance. "My guess?" Mary Margaret said. "Cora." She looked at Buffy. "But she's powerful, Buffy, believe me . . . and really dangerous."

Nothin' she hadn't heard before. No matter who she faced, there was always someone more powerful, more dangerous, wasn't there? It never ended. It never would. "I just battled a hellgod," she stated with a careless shrug. "Bad perm and tacky clothes-wearing _whiny _hellgod, but as far power goes, she was not entirely lacking. So . . . really not sweating many bullets here." She rolled her eyes at the woman's concerned and definitely-a-little-baffled face and said, "Look, I've done this before, okay? It's kind of my job. Battling the big bad evil, saving the world, yadda yadda yadda, I can handle it, and I always—"

She stopped mid-sentence, for just a second, but it was long enough: "—win." She licked her lips and went on with a little less oomph. "So this Cora chick. She's a witch, huh? I don't suppose you've got any weapons? Crossbow? Maybe a cleaver? I'm thinkin' stake's not really gonna cut it, but I usually like to have one on me and I left my troll god hammer at home."

Mary Margaret studied her with wide eyes. "Who _are _you?"

Buffy pressed her lips together and shrugged. "I'm the Slayer." Sometimes just no other answer would cut it. "So where's this Cora?"

"We . . . don't exactly know," she answered. "She came here from—well, from somewhere else, like you. And she's in hiding, and we don't know where yet."

Helpful. Ever so increasingly helpful. "Well, who would?"

Another pause from the dynamic duo. _That _they clearly knew. "He's probably on his ship," David said with a voice full of dread, grabbing his coat. He came close to Mary Margaret and touched her face. Buffy looked away, feeling like she was intruding on an intimate moment. She couldn't help but feel a little stab of painful yearning at the sight. They looked close. They looked like they were in love. She remembered that. But that felt like . . . forever ago. "I'll go," David said. Mary Margaret looked about to protest, but she nodded. She whispered a question at him, but Buffy only heard his response: "I'm gonna have to, aren't I? Who knows what he'll say."

"Be careful," Mary Margaret said, and they kissed.

When they were on their way out the door, Buffy turned to David. "Did you say '_ship_'?"

David almost sighed. "Yeah." He paused. "Did you say _troll god hammer?_" She only shrugged. He looked back once at Mary Margaret before shutting the door. "I'll fill you in on the way," he said with a little sigh.

"Oh, goody."

[ ] [ ] [ ]

When David asked Buffy what exactly a _vampire slayer _was, and how exactly she came to be one, she had a hard time explaining it. It just _was_. Once, Buffy was a normal girl—a little shallow, sure—and then . . . she wasn't. She was sitting on the steps of her high school, minding her own business, and then all of a sudden a guy came up to her and said 'hey, this is what you are now so deal with it' and she did. She didn't have a choice. She didn't fill out an application. She had no qualifications. She was a random selection in a universe of girls all capable of doing what she was doing, and she was the drafted one.

The Chosen One.

David's natural curiosity—and she couldn't help but get the feeling he understood a bit more than the average Joe—was a lot easier to bounce off of than, say, her mother's fear and confusion a couple years ago. God was _that _one of the worst nights of her life. Not only was she preparing to kill the love of her life before he sucked the world into hell, but she had to get her mother to understand that no, she wasn't a crazy murderer, and yes, vampires were real, and yes, she was the only one who could fight them. She was the _savior._ She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. And also, no, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

In fact, nine times out of ten, it monumentally _sucked_. Especially when she was faced with decisions like: let the world go to hell or let your lover die; let the world go to hell or let your sister die; let the world go to hell or let yourself die. "But it's what I have to do," she said. "It's why I have to get back. They need me."

"I thought you said you saved them?" David asked, and Buffy was well-accustomed his infuriating tendency to ask just the right—and wrong—questions.

"I thought—" she almost stopped. "I don't know what I thought. I don't know why I'm here."

"Ever think maybe it's for a reason?" he asked pointedly, and she all but glared at him. "I'm just saying. Things that happen here . . . there tend to always be a reason. I've learned that by now." He paused heavily, thoughtful.

"Yeah well, unless Storybrooke suffers from an unusually high death rate-by-vampires, I think my being here is more-or-less reasonless until I see otherwise." The Slayer was needed elsewhere. Whether or not she wanted to be. She cleared her throat and changed course. "So we've established this place is pretty unordinary, what with the invisible barriers and ships and whatnot. But why am I getting the feeling there's something I still don't know?"

He frowned.

"That look," she pointed out. "That's what I'm talking about. I've seen it a million times, and it almost always means bad news." She stopped and faced him. "So spill, David. If that _is _your real name."

"Actually, it is," David answered, and she lifted an eyebrow in confusion. "Buffy, this is going to sound strange—"

"Um, hello? I just told you I spend my nights hanging out in _cemeteries_ slaying the evil dead. Kinda cornered the market on strange. I _dare _you to shock me."

"We—this town—we were brought here by a curse. We came from another land—a much, much different land. And we were different people. But when we were sent here, we lost our memories of who we were, and they were replaced by a different set of memories. Different names . . . a whole different identity. With me?"

She nodded and then— "Wait . . . okay, yep, still on board."

"And someone—my daughter, Emma—came to Storybrooke and broke the curse. We regained our memory of who we were, and magic was returned."

"Wow," said Buffy, impressed. "Good for her. Count me in on Team Emma. How old was she?"

"Twenty eight," he said, and while Buffy frowned and tried to puzzle _that _little conundrum out, David smiled a little. The look was a little strange, and a little sad. Buffy decided to hold her tongue and let him continue without interruption, even though she was pretty sure she either misheard, or David's daughter was like . . . about eight years older than Buffy which made absolutely _zero _kinds of sense. "But the person who cursed us—the one who brought us here, Regina—did it for a reason. She wanted to rid us of our happy endings. Tear us away from the ones we love. And even though the curse is broken . . . we're still here, and even though we're all reunited, I get the feeling—"

"It's not over?" Buffy finished. He looked at her and nodded in acknowledgment. "Pro tip? That's cause it never is." She resumed walking, staring at the street with solemn determination. "Life isn't a fairytale. We don't get happy endings."

He didn't answer, and she looked at him. "What?" she asked. He shook his head. "I saw a look. You flinched. And not because of my pessimism-fest." She took a step closer. "You said when you came here, you had different identities. So when you called Mary Margaret 'Snow' . . ."

"Mary Margaret was her name here," he answered, "when we couldn't remember who we were."

Buffy nodded. "And her name in this other land was?"

He hesitated for the slightest fraction of a second. "Snow . . . White."

She blinked. She squinted at him, searching his eyes for laughter or mocking, for some evidence in his face that he was either crazy or just a lame prankster. But no. David was telling the truth. Well, or he was crazy. "Snow White," she repeated dumbly. "Which . . . would make you . . ." She waited a second for him to fill in the blanks and just went ahead and did it herself: "Prince Charming?"

He nodded.

Uh huh. Buffy looked him over for a second—and burst into laughter. After a few seconds of him pointedly _not _joining in her gaiety, she stopped. "Holy _Go_—Wait . . . _Really?_"

A few moments later in which Buffy was finally convinced that this David was actually _the_ Prince Charming in the flesh, she briefly looked him over (when he wasn't looking, of course, she wasn't a _total _creep) and thought: _Well, at least he's pretty much what I imagined._


	3. She Is Everyone

"You look skeptical."

"Yeah well, that's a pretty common side effect of skepticism," Buffy replied, keeping her eye out for his so-called ship. She believed that David believed he was actually Prince Charming, didn't that count for something? It wasn't impossible that whoever cast that spell to keep Buffy in Storybrooke was messing with the townspeople's minds. That made a little bit more sense. But that also meant Buffy would probably have to stick around to help them, which was not something she particularly wanted to put on her to-do list.

"I thought you said you were used to strange, magical things where you came from?" David asked her. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the notion that this man really believed he was Prince Charming. Maybe it was the modern clothes that were throwing him off. Shouldn't he be wearing a cape, or something? Carrying a sword instead of a gun holster? These were all questions running through her mind so fast it was hard to even look him in the face.

"Yeah well, I meant more along the lines of . . . vampires, giant snakes, ghosts, trolls, gods, vengeance demons, witches, hellmouths under the library that open up to swallow us hole, you know . . ." Buffy shrugged. "Normal stuff. Not . . . characters I used to fantasi—I used to, you know, _read_ about." She quickened her pace. No, Buffy was never much for the damseling, but there was something traditionally alluring about the handsome prince on his big white horse, at least to her inner eight year-old. "Oh, well, except for Dracula. He was pretty much standard. Bats and smoke and everything. And, funny story, it was actually _me _he'd heard—" She cut off the rambling and got to the point. "Sorry," she amended. "I just think you're a little—"

"Crazy?"

"A . . . strong word. I was gonna go with . . . actually yeah, crazy pretty much covers the bases." She resumed walking. "I just wanna find this Cora person and get her to open up a nice little pathway, and then I'll leave you to you and your storybook—gyuh!"

Again, Buffy stopped, eyes wide in dawning realization. "Storybrooke," she said aloud. She very nearly groaned. As far as puns go, it wasn't the unlamest. "So if you're supposed to be Prince Charming and Mary Margaret's Snow White . . . who's Cora? The Evil Queen?"

"The Queen's mother, actually."

"Huh." Buffy frowned. She was pretty sure that part didn't exist in the story. The Evil Queen was enough evil for one fairytale.

"Here," David said, suddenly coming to a stop. All Buffy saw were empty docks. She gave David a squinty-eyed look. Maybe 'crazy' wasn't a strong enough word after all. "It's cloaked," he explained with a little amused quirk of a smile, "by magic."

She followed him to the dock, eyes scanning the area warily. She felt naked without a weapon. It didn't matter that it was daytime. She'd spent days on the move, preparing for battle with Glory, never letting her guard down—

(Well, except for that whole catatonia thing, but that was like a quick timeout and she got better.)

—and even though it was daylight and looked relatively harmless, Buffy's instincts were on overdrive. "So . . . the Mother of Evil lives on a ship?"

"Nope. This is Hook's ship."

It didn't occur to Buffy until they were near the water that David might have actually been referring to—

"_Captain Hook_?"

"One in the same, love," said a voice from behind them. Buffy spun around to face a man at the edge of the dock. As far as his clothes went, he certainly looked the part. He wasn't exactly dressed like he was heading for a stroll about town. He even had the pirate-y eyeliner—and what _was _that for, anyway? Only thing missing was the actual hook. If this was some kind of town-wide twisted roleplay scenario, she figured this guy wouldn't get high marks. Instead, his left arm was tucked inside his jacket, and Buffy noticed the slight limp when he took a step; the brief wince of pain that flashed on his face. "Except I seem to be without said hook, momentarily," the man said with a little humorless grin and an accent she couldn't really place.

"Where's Cora, Hook?" David asked, none-too-nicely.

"As I told you before, Your _Highness_, Cora doesn't bother checking in. Not with me, anyway." His gaze shifted from David to travel over Buffy in a not-entirely comfortable way. "Who's this, now? I didn't take you for the cavorting type. I take it that means your lovely wife wouldn't mind the occasional—"

David was already on him, giving him a solid push that cut Hook's words right off. "Finish that sentence and you're going to need a peg leg to go with that hook." The man winced in pain and leaned back with a triumphant little smirk despite David's threats. "Did she do something to the town barrier?" David asked.

"Not sure," Hook said. "Why don't you ask—?"

This time, it was Buffy who cut him off, swiftly stepping in front of David and grabbing Hook—God couldn't there be something else to call him?—by the scruff of his neck. Why was it the people she needed information were always so uncooperative? Just once, she'd like to have an informant willing to dish just to be helpful, without the violent-incentives. Was that so much to ask?

"Hi there!" she said, overly cheerful and entirely so not willing to endure the games. "I'm Buffy. And I get the feeling _you're _the one who holds your girl Cora's purse, so you can tell her that. And while you're at it? Tell her I've spent the last day battling off medieval religious soldiers, more than a handful of ugly demons and a hell god who could tear this place apart just by stomping her tacky-heeled foot. Where I'm from? I'm called _The Slayer_, and if Cora thinks trapping me here is in her best interests? She's gonna get a hands-on in-her-face demonstration of what that means."

The man lifted an eyebrow with not a little bit of interest. "Test me," she dared him.

"My, you're quite the fiery thing," he said in little more than a low whisper. Buffy let him go and rolled her eyes at the smarm. "Buffy, is it? Strange name." He dusted off the collar of his pirate-y coat. "Tell me, Your Highness, where _do _you find all these cheeky women? Or is this yet another one of your abandoned daughters?"

If looks could kill, Hook would be a whimpering puddle of guts at David's feet. Buffy stepped in before this escalated. "Come on," she said. "We don't need him. I'll find her myself. Surprise, surprise, sailor boy here is even _more_ useless than he looks."

"Oh, I'm sure you could put _some _use to me, darling. I've got a few ideas in mind."

Buffy trudged past him in disgust, _accidentally _hitting into his shoulder with hers and knocking him off balance. Hook caught himself from stumbling but groaned in pain, which was a win. "Sorry," David said to her when they were out of earshot. "He . . . does that."

"Oozes sleaze? Was he that creepy in the story? 'Cause, there were lots of kids in that one so if so? _Majorly_ gross." She shrugged. "So now, I'm right back to square one." Trapped in a town where everyone thought they were some kind of storybook character. "Maybe we can, you know, catapult me over the barrier, or—oh! Maybe use some kinda hot air balloon. Is there someone here who thinks he's a wizard?"

Blank face. "No, huh? Well, if Mommy Dearest is the one pulling the strings, and she's M.I.A., I can think of one other person who might know where she is." She lifted her eyebrows. "What's say we pay a visit to your Evil Queen?"

David didn't look too thrilled with that suggestion.

"I can't stay here," Buffy said, her voice soft despite its urgency. "What I did . . . before I got here, I have to make sure it worked. If it didn't . . ."

That thought inspired a series of images that didn't exactly fill her with warm puppy feelings of relaxation and accomplishment. If her blood didn't close Glory's portal and she just disappeared, then either the world ended, which—world clearly still here, so that was a bust—someone used Dawn's blood to stop it.

And that meant Buffy couldn't be there to protect her. "If it didn't," she went on, "then . . ."

She stopped, remembering her words to Giles. _If Dawn dies, I'm done with it. I'm quitting._ She'd meant them. With all her heart and soul she meant them. And then she'd realized that there might have been more to a Slayer than being a killer. But what if she was wrong?

"Buffy," David said. He didn't ask, and she couldn't be more grateful for that. "We'll figure this out. I promise you. But right now . . . maybe you need to rest. Snow and I will talk to Regina. It's better that we do. She can be . . ."

She was about to argue, but instead Buffy nodded. She put her hands through her hair and took a breath. "Thank you," she said, holding the look long enough for him to know she meant it. "I think I'll go back to the town line. See if maybe it was a fluke. Throw a little bit more slayer strength at it and see if anything sticks. _Don't _give me that face. I'm _fine_. Really truly. I'll sleep when I know my friends are safe."

He nodded, and before she let him go Buffy called out: "Wait! Has this ever happened before? The barrier thing. I mean, would it bounce you back too?"

"No," he answered grimly. "But if we cross it, we lose . . . our memories of who we really are. It's happened to two of us already."

Buffy frowned. "Would it happen to me?"

He looked thoughtful. "I don't think so. Not if you weren't cursed." David paused. "And I have a feeling Storybrooke wants you here, Buffy. There's been one outsider since the curse broke. Just one. And he didn't come from thin air like you did."

She didn't say anything to that. She didn't want to be wanted here, not when she needed to be somewhere else. Buffy turned away before thinking twice and turning back. "David." He stopped. "This . . . fairytale thing. It's really true, isn't it?"

David set his jaw and nodded. "They're not stories to us, Buffy. They're our lives."

She pursed her lips. "And you and Mary Margaret—um, Snow White. Did you get your happy ending? You know, after that whole apple thing?"

He paused, but a serene prideful smile came on his face. It was all she needed to know. "There's been a couple . . . setbacks. But we always find each other."

She smiled a little—both happily satisfied by the answer, and a little sad. "Good," she said, and headed back to the town line.

At least someone gets a happy ending.

[ ] [ ] [ ]

Buffy was about ten feet from the town line when she stopped. Her body tensed, preparing for an attack, and when it did not come she relaxed just enough.

Someone was following her. And she had the feeling whoever it was wanted her to know it. Considering they were alone on the dark abandoned road, Buffy didn't think they were coming to her for pleasant conversation. "It's been a long day," she said aloud. "So why don't we stop playing games?" She slowly turned around to face—

Her jaw dropped. Her body stilled. Buffy blinked, but when her eyes opened, there she was. "Dawn . . ."

"Buffy," Dawn said, her voice choked with emotion. Her big brown eyes were glistening with tears. The cut Buffy remembered seeing on her forehead was gone. She was wearing jeans and a floral shirt she stole from Buffy's closet—instead of that ghastly dress Glory made her wear for the sacrifice. "I knew I'd find you. What happened?"

"Dawn," she said in a whisper, crossing to her sister in a few large strides. She put her arms on her shoulders, on her face, on her hair, and pulled her into a hug. "Are you—are you okay? How did you get here?"

"I'm not," Dawn said, her brow furrowing. "Giles and Willow did this—this spell to see where you are." Her face looked sad. "It won't last very long."

Buffy, however, couldn't help but smile a little in relief. "Giles . . . and Willow . . . is everyone else okay?"

Dawn nodded. "We need you back, Buffy."

She shook her head. "Dawnie, I can't leave. I tried. I don't even know where—it's some place called Storybrooke, and they're either a bunch of crazies or they think they're fairytale characters. I'm pretty sure I met Prince Charming today."

Dawn's eyes widened for a second as her sorrow was replaced by surprised interest. "Really? What's he like?"

Buffy shrugged, letting a little half-grin form. "Charming." She smiled at her sister and touched the ends of her hair. "You don't know how happy this makes me . . . to know you're okay. To know that what I did—"

"Buffy," Dawn interrupted, "we need you to come home. It's bad. Giles thinks he's figured out how to get you home, but he needs to know everything. How you got there, I mean. Everything you've seen since you've been there . . . everything you heard."

Buffy shrugged, frowning. "Pretty simple, really. You were there for the whole . . . you know—Swan Dive O' Death. Can't be much clearer, explanation-wise. Why does it matter? Just have Will cook up something and, I don't know, teleport me?"

"It's not that simple," Dawn said. "Did Snow White say anything about a magic bean?"

"A magic . . ." Buffy stopped. She let her hands fall to her side and looked into her sister's face. For the second time in her life, Buffy Summers uttered the words: "You're not my sister."

Dawn looked hurt. "B-Buffy? Of _course _I'm—"

"I never said I met Snow White."

"Well . . . I figured . . . you know, since you met Prince Charming . . ."

"And you're pumping me for information."

Dawn let out a huff of indignation that was _so like Dawn. _"I'm not! I _told _you. We need—"

"What you _need _is to _get the hell out _of my sister's body before I beat you to death." Buffy set her jaw and hardened every muscle in her face. The more she looked, the more everything was wrong. The eyes, the mouth, the voice, the smooth skin of her forehead, the clothes. "You're not Dawn," she said again. "Who are you?"

Suddenly the visage of her sister was clouded in purple-black smoke. Buffy nearly jumped back to avoid getting caught in the mist. She waited, poised in a fighting stance, as the smoke finally dissolved, and standing there facing her was an older woman.

Buffy looked her up and down, assessing the fact that unlike David, she was dressed like a mannequin in a Halloween costume shop—one that Buffy wouldn't have been caught dead in. Hanging over her back shoulder was a small black umbrella. Probably nice and dry, considering the absolute lack of rain. "Let me guess," Buffy stated, anger dripping from her voice. "Evil Queen? You here to offer me an apple? 'Cause I already ate."

The woman laughed. "Oh no, dear. On the contrary!"

Buffy watched her warily. "Cora," she said. "You've got about five seconds to explain to me what the hell you think you're doing."

"There's no need to be dramatic. Didn't you enjoy seeing your little sister?"

Buffy did not dignify that question with anything but daggers in her eyes. "So are you here for a reason? Or did you just come to mua-ha-ha me to death?" She shook her head. "Man, you villains really need to vary up the game a little. It's getting kind of tired."

Cora's smile remained as wide as it was, but it didn't match her eyes. Buffy wasn't worried, but it would have been nice to have a little fire power. "You don't belong here," the woman said.

"No," Buffy retorted evenly, "I don't." She waited for the witch to make her move.

"This isn't your world," Cora said, gesturing to the orange-painted line on the ground ahead. "This isn't your sister's world, or your friends' world. You've been taken out of time and out of space."

Buffy held up her arms. "Mind telling me why?" Cora's smile wavered, and Buffy realized: she didn't know. She could see the flicker of uncertainty right on her face. Whatever power this woman had, she didn't bring Buffy here. She probably didn't even want Buffy here. "No," the slayer went on, "you're not here to tell me why. You want to know _how_."

She paused just long enough to see the confirmation on Cora's face, and Buffy shrugged. That's why she pretended to be Dawn. That's why she asked about how Buffy ended up in Storybrooke, when Dawn saw the portal with her own eyes. That's why she was fishing about some magic bean. Buffy allowed the slightest smugness when she asked: "Too bad I don't feel like sharing."

"Don't play games with me, little girl," Cora said, taking a step closer. Buffy didn't like the way she spoke. She didn't do the intimidating low scary voice all the big bads tried to pull with her. She said everything like it was the funniest thing in the world; like she was speaking to a bunch of ants. "I'm not some undead rat you're charged to poke with a stick."

So she knew. She knew enough to know what Buffy was. Fine with her. "I get it," she said, "you're powerful. Blah, blah, I can smash you with my pinky finger, you're only alive because I will it, my wrath is such that you've never seen." She let her mocking smile fall. She was pretty sick of hearing that riff, but at least since Glory, she knew what it meant. Cora was standing here, not trying to kill her, and trying to get information because Buffy had something she wanted.

It meant Buffy had the power.

Slayer determination don't-mess-with-me face: "But vampires aren't the only thing I can slay."

Cora's smile widened for a split second. "You're plucky. And strong. I can sense it. But it's not me you want to fight."

"No?"

"I'm not the one who trapped you here, dear. But I am powerful enough to allow you to leave." She made a quick motion with her hand. "You're free to go."

Buffy took a quick look at the town line, and back at Cora, face frozen in suspicion. "What's the catch?"

Instead of answering, the witch disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

Buffy waited a beat, and held out her hands. "_That's _it? That's all I get? _Un_believable!" She looked at the dented _Leaving Storybrooke _sign and frowned. David said those who were cursed lost their memories, but since Buffy wasn't cursed along with the rest, she wouldn't lose hers. But David said a lot of things. For all Buffy knew, he was just a really, really convincing liar.

But what the barrier would do to her wasn't the thing weighing on her mind. Something else was pulsing there, filling her with a steady, gradually heightening rage.

It was Cora.

Cora testing her, trying to find out what she knows.

Cora trying to make her leave.

_Cora wearing her sister's face._

Call her crazy, but Buffy turned away from the town line and marched back into town. If Prince "everything-happens-for-a-reason" Charming thinks Storybrooke wanted her here, and the big bad witch wanted her to leave, well . . .

No brainer, really.

[ ] [ ] [ ]

NOTE: Hi there! Just popping in to say thanks to everyone for reading! Honestly, I just NEEDED Buffy in Storybrooke, and there aren't too many crossover stories, so I figured I'd take a wild stab and do it myself even though undoubtedly someone could do it way better. So Buffy/Once fans, get to writin'!

FYI I know I have a bit of Buffy/Charming interaction but I'm obviously not setting up for Buffy to start homewrecking or anything. Slap Hook around a couple times (come on, like he's not used to it….LIBRARIES BEAT HIM UP)? Sure. I want to get her interacting with as many people as I can while I establish her base in Storybrooke.

Also, at least right now, as I'm sure you've noticed, I'm vaguely sticking with what's going on in Once Upon A Time right now at least as much as I can (Example: Emma/Gold/Henry are in Manhattan as of 2x14, Cora/Hook/Regina looking for the dagger, etc).

I'd appreciate any reviews! Thanks! =)


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